


In No Need of Rescue (but Sure as Hell Don’t Mind)

by Somedeepmystery



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Basically, F/M, Fluff, just a giant pile of the stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 21:22:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15827184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somedeepmystery/pseuds/Somedeepmystery
Summary: Gaby is no damsel in distress, but that doesn't mean she minds a little intervention.When Gaby's mission ends up a bust, she's got nothing to look forward to but a long. uncomfortable wait. It's nothing she can't handle, but she sure would prefer a ride.





	In No Need of Rescue (but Sure as Hell Don’t Mind)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SydneyMo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SydneyMo/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY SYDNEYMO!
> 
> I know you will know exactly where the source material for this comes from but hopefully that won't make you enjoy it any less!
> 
> I hope you are having an excellent day and that you enjoy this little slice of fluff. Thank you for being a great friend and a fun writing companion! Happy Birthday and here's to many more!
> 
> AND huge, gigantic, enormous thanks to diadema who beta'd this for me because she's amazing (and honestly I'm not sure how she puts up with me.)

  
  
  


The clap of her shoes against the wood decking rang out through the open-air terminal. Gaby’s dark eyes squinted against the golden light of the setting sun, wind whipping at her clothing and stinging her cheeks as she ran for the ticket kiosk. The blare of a ferry horn drowned out her foot falls for a moment, and she dug deeper to pick up her pace.

 

The young man behind the counter looked up at her in surprise, and she smiled at him as she dropped the heavy duffle bag between her feet. “Yes, yes,” she said to him, waving off any attempted pleasantries. Her cheeks were flushed from her exertion, and she was out of breath. “One way for the mainland.”

He blinked at her. “Sorry, ma’am,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder with a thumb. “Last ferry just left.”

Gaby looked out at the large boat easing away from the dock. She glanced down at the money already in her hand and then back up at him, trying to maintain a polite countenance. “Oh. The, uh, the next one then.”

“That’ll be Monday morning at 5am, ma’am.”

“Monday?” she demanded, all pretense falling away.

“Ferry doesn’t run on Sundays. It’s a day of rest.”

She gave an incredulous laugh.“You’re joking!”

He frowned at her. “Sunday’s no joke, ma’am,” he said. “Not around here anyway.”

“But what if people need to get to the mainland?”

“They can get there on Monday soon enough, can’t they?”

“Soon enough... I need to get there tonight!”

He pulled down the shade to indicate both the end of his shift and the conversation, and Gaby huffed out a disbelieving breath of air.

_ “Well, then.” _

After spending a few seconds absorbing the situation, Gaby slung the weighted duffle bag back over her shoulder. It pulled at tired, sore muscles and rubbed at her collarbone. She turned from the kiosk and scanned the terminal. The last arriving ferry was deboarding, and all around her, people were chatting, reuniting, and working their way toward the exit. Across the way, she saw a line of payphones. Adjusting her load, she headed in that direction.

Setting the bag of equipment at her feet once more, Gaby lifted the receiver on the last phone and, using her body as a screen, unscrewed the mouth piece and attached the isolator to the inside. Then, she dialed the familiar number.

“Del Floria’s Tailor Shop,” a female voice answered after precisely three rings. “Dropping off or picking up?”

“Dropping off,” Gaby said, folding her arms and leaning back against the divider.

“May I have your customer number please?”

Gaby rattled off the number combo and sighed as the woman said, “One moment.” There were a few clicks, a low tone, and then the sound of a receiver picking up on the other end.

“Agent Teller, I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon.”

“They moved up the meeting. I didn’t have time to report.”

Her superior’s alertness was palpable through the phone. “Are we on the trail?”

Gaby exhaled slowly and pressed her fingers to her forehead as she turned back into the shelter of the booth. “No, it was—” she swallowed. She’d spent so much time here, waiting, watching. The ending still left a bitter taste. “It was a bloodbath. I’m not sure what happened, really. An idiot on one side slept with the sister of an idiot on the other side...” She untwisted a finger from the dangling phone cord. “They slaughtered each other.”

Her announcement was met with tense silence.

“The FBI were in there a moment later, so I’m guessing we weren’t the only ones onto the deal.”

“But we’re the only ones onto the larger picture.” Waverly sighed. “I was really hoping this would lead us back to the larger cell.”

Gaby already knew that, so she didn’t respond. Disappointment twisted her stomach. It wasn’t as if there were anything she could have done. Still... all that wasted time.

“So, the Feds have the weapons then. I do wonder what they will think when they discover they’re fake.”

Gaby did smile a little at that. At least there she had succeeded. “I suppose that’s what they’ll blame the shootout on.”

“I suppose so. Are you on your way back then?”

Gaby looked at the quickly emptying terminal. “Unfortunately, _no_ . Last ferry’s already left, and there isn’t another one until Monday.”

“Monday?” His surprised disbelief reflected her own. It eased some of her annoyance.

She hummed. “Day of rest is very important on this little island apparently.”

“I see.” She heard a shuffling of paperwork, and then a hand sliding over the receiver. Waverly’s words were muffled as he spoke to someone she couldn’t see, then returned to full volume as he came back to her. “I’m afraid,” he said grimly, “Monday is your day. I don’t have anyone available to pick you up.”

“It’s fine,” she told him, though inside, she groaned. It _was_ fine, she knew how to take care of herself. Instead, she had another, more pressing concern. “Before I go, have you heard any news?”

She didn’t need to clarify. Alexander Waverly had always been able to read her like a book. He was the only one. She’d resented him a little in the beginning, but now she felt relieved. It made things that much simpler.

“Ah, no, not as of yet, but I wouldn’t worry. It’s only been a month, and you know how closely they like to hold their cards.”

Yes, she knew it all too well.

There was a slight chuckle. “I believe they think they are playing some sort of power game with me, but whatever they _may_ be, the KGB are no fools. They understand the threat THRUSH poses to their own country. Now, hold tight. Catch the ferry Monday, and I’ll send Solo up to meet you with the Cessna.”

“Thank you,” she said, grateful. At least the last leg of her tip home wouldn’t be through public transit.

_Home,_ she thought absently. It felt a little like a dream.

As she returned the cleaned receiver to its cradle, she spotted a vendor just taking down his cart. She snatched up her bag as her stomach rumbled.

“Hi!” she called, hurrying over to him. “Hello, yes, I’m wondering if I can grab something before you close up?”

“Sorry, already locked everything down.” He was unloading magazines from the shelves, but the food was put away.

Gaby put on her prettiest smile, though she knew her appearance was far from her best. Mussed hair fluttered at her cheeks, stirred by the breeze off the water. Her clothing was days old and rumpled from lying on a mattress to stare out a scope day after day. “Surely, you could unlock it for a hungry girl?” she asked sweetly, pulling some cash from her pocket and showing it to him. “I’m willing to pay extra.”

He looked at her as if she had suggested he commit a robbery. “Can’t do that, ma’am.”

Gaby huffed. She’d had about enough of being called ma’am. Still, she smiled tightly and nodded as she pushed the money back out of sight. “I understand.”

She made her way to one of the many benches that lined the boardwalk and sat down, putting her bag at her feet and letting her hands dangle between her knees as she looked around. She thought of the rickety warehouse and the attic nest she’d been hiding out in for the last three weeks. The lumpy cot, the barely warm water, only her surveillance equipment to keep her company. She couldn’t go back there. Too risky.

Her gaze fell to the slats of wood beneath her. Well, it was hardly the worst place she’d spent the night. She had gotten out of the situation clean, she was armed, and she had enough field rations to last her several more days.

She sighed, leaning back against the green-painted wood. She would be fine— _uncomfortable,_ but fine. She closed her eyes, unable to resist thinking fondly of her own bed. Her perfectly-balanced mattress, her soft, warm quilts, the pile of pillows that Illya always complained about.

Her heart pinched at the thought of Illya.

The last time she’d been in her bed, he’d been in it with her. It had been the morning before his latest recall to Moscow, and she’d pinned him down every time he had moved to leave, burying her face in his neck and threatening to leave love bites in places his turtleneck would keep hidden.

“I will mostly likely have to undress in front of others,” he had said. “Is not a good idea.”

Gaby recalled sitting up on his hips and looking down at him. “Wouldn’t you like to show off? Have evidence that a woman out there wants you?”

He had shaken his head, hands skirting over her ribs to her waist. “I feel no need to show off.”

She peered down her nose at him. “Maybe you want to mark me?”

He’d frowned at that. “I have no desire to mark you,” he had returned. “You are not a possession.”

Even now, her heart rolled over at those words.

“Maybe I want you to,” she remembered saying, the words low and harsh to hide her sincerity. “Maybe I want your mark so I can look at it and think of you while you are gone.”

His eyes had flared, pale blue in the washed-out morning light. “You would want that?”

She had given him one of her shrugs, as if it hardly mattered. Why she tried to feign indifference, she didn’t know. There was no point. He saw through her anyway. In the end, she had nodded.

Illya’s eyes had scanned her naked body, his gaze more analytical than it usually was when they were in this position. “Where would you want it?”

In the ferry terminal, Gaby swiped a thumb over her hip bone. It was all faded now. Not even a hint of yellow to be found. But it was still there, in her mind. She could still feel his mouth as he’d sucked her skin, harder when she’d demanded it, his large hands holding her hips as he made it darker and darker until she was satisfied.

_ “I don’t want to hurt you.” _

_ “You won’t. It doesn’t hurt.” _

Afterward, his mouth had moved on to more delicate work, and he had almost missed his flight.

That had been six weeks ago.

Gaby ran her fingers through her hair and braided it quickly. The duffle bag was lifted and set down beside her, and she reached inside to retrieve a can of rations, popping the key off the bottom and inserting it into the tab so she could peel it open. Inside there was a stack of biscuits and a few pieces of candy. When her meal was finished, she tried to settle down for the night.

The duffle bag made a terrible pillow, and the bench was hard, but she managed to doze off and on. Each time she awoke to see darkness still surrounding her, she groaned in disappointment. She’d had many long nights in her life, especially as a spy, but this one might very well be the longest. She sighed as she shifted to a new position, her hips and ribs aching, and let her eyes close again. Eventually, she fell into a fitful sleep.

It was the sound of church bells that woke her. The sunlight reflecting off the water made her squint as she sat up, surprised she’d slept for such a long stretch, and extremely sore from her choice of bed. She rubbed at her neck and shoulders for a few moments before pushing to her feet and going in search of breakfast.

Of course, as the ticket vendor had said, they took their day of rest seriously on the little island, and not a single store or restaurant was open. Gaby settled a hip on the railing of one closed establishment and resigned herself to another field ration as she watched the people pouring from the church at the end of the street. She watched them go by, all dressed in their best clothing, walking and talking together in sedate tones, and wondered, enviously, about the meals they might be headed home to. Her mind turned to her favorite, seasoned New York bagel with schlackwurst and cheese, a combination of things Solo liked to tease her were sacrilege.

A towering figure caught her attention through the crowd, a flash of blond hair, a dark jacket. Sunlight playing over pale skin. It sent her thoughts to Illya again, and her pulse quickened. Of course, it _couldn’t_ be Illya. Illya was thousands of miles away in Moscow. Illya didn’t even know she was here. It couldn’t possibly be Illya...

Only it _was_.

The crowd passed by, and there he stood, leaning on a railing across from her, his arms folded, looking tall and whole and healthy and remarkably _real_ . Before her mind could even register another thought, she was running, crossing the street on swift feet and tossing the duffle bag into the grass as she leapt into his arms.

“Hello, Chop Shop Girl,” he offered, but he hardly had the words out before she was kissing him.

His arms wrapped around her along with his scent, and she felt the familiar press of his long torso against hers, the well-known and well-loved feel of his mouth as he kissed her back.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded when they parted several moments later, her voice a breathless rush.

“I heard there was an agent in need of pick up and thought I would lend a hand,” he explained with a shrug of his shoulder, but there was a coy look in his eyes as he took her in.

“When did you get back?” she asked, thinking of her conversation with Waverly the night before.

He scrunched his face in thought. His watch was out of sight, wrapped around the wrist currently holding her against him. “Roughly eight hours ago.”

Gaby pulled back further and studied his face, took note of the scruff of stubble on his jaw, the dark circles beneath his eyes. “Illya, the terminal on the mainland is a seven hour drive from New York.” He nodded. “And then an hour by ferry...” she looked out at the terminal, but it was still as lifeless as ever.

“A little faster by powerboat,” he returned.

“You brought a boat?”

He smirked, setting her down but not letting her go. “How else do you think I get here? Swim? I am exhausted.”

She didn’t let him distract her with his attempts at humor, precious though she found them. “You didn’t have to come,” she insisted. “I would have been fine.”

He reached up and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, ran the pad of his thumb over her cheek. “Of course you would be fine,” he said, and the sincerity of it was plain. “I have no doubt of this.”

“Then why are you here when you should be sleeping?”

He sighed. “I arrived and heard you were stuck, and I thought—” he studied her fingers in his hand and gave a little shake of his head. “If my mission had been a bust, I would not want to be waiting around, eating rations and sleeping on benches. Not when I could be eating in my own kitchen, sleeping in my own bed.”

Gaby felt both heavy and light at his words. To be known, to be understood, to be thought of. To be cared for in surplus when no care was really needed. She took a breath and looked up at him as she folded her arms. She raised an eyebrow. “In your _own_ bed?”

He huffed out a laugh, then reached out to pull her close again. “Whichever bed you want,” he said quietly, darting a look around. “As long as you are in it with me.”

Her grin widened. “Your true motives revealed.”

His own grin was indulgent, but he didn’t deny it.

She pressed her hands to his chest, let herself feel him, the in and out of his breathing, his steady heartbeat. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I didn’t need to be rescued, but—”

He ducked down and lifted her duffle bag onto his shoulder. “But you like it anyway.”

She glared at him and half-heartedly shoved at his shoulder, before grabbing his face so she could kiss him again. “Yes, I do.”


End file.
